


A Sardine Grows from the Soil

by SandrC



Series: Not Another Fanfiction Collection [15]
Category: Not Another D&D Podcast (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bev is just a child, Not A Fix-It, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Time Travel, Time is immutable, in which I explore trauma and nothing much else, the plot is an ouroboros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-11-28 21:43:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20973521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandrC/pseuds/SandrC
Summary: How many years has it been since that timeSomeone with scissorsHad cut the timelineAnd thenYesterday and tomorrow were connected(Or: Just after Hardwon lost his life, Beverly wakes up on his way to Moonstone)





	A Sardine Grows from the Soil

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't certain I was ever going to finish this. I had so much planned for it and then I kept losing the lead and losing interest and then coming back to it to only just go "ehh, I don't know..."
> 
> But I finished it! And it's really okay!
> 
> I love sad time travel shit. Hope you like it too. Also this is less of a time-travel thing and more of an exploration of trauma thing. Arc 1 Bev was such a cutie, so soft, so spoilt. Now Bev? He has a goddamn skull on his hip and he's in Hell (not at the same time, but it's the thought that counts). People change. Not always for the better.
> 
> Don't forget that I like rabbit-like halflings. What's the point of fantasy races if they're just human+? Boring, that's how.
> 
> Belated hooray for us having a proper fandom tag now! Yayyyyy! We did it!
> 
> Link to the song that inspired this in the bottom notes. It's very good.

Beverly curled up underneath the threadbare covers of some random Shell's bed and tried to just drift off. His mind was already doing the thing it did where it took every scary horrifying thing that could happen and cycled through them on repeat. When he closed his eyes he could see Hardwon bleeding out with Scarlett tearing into him, Deadeye watching as they begged for help, his dad apologizing for selling his soul to Akarot, or the imaginary scenario when he finally arrives home and Erlin and his mother are _dead_.

They spun round and round in his skull, as they _always_ do, and it took at least half an hour before he managed to drift off. When they receded and sleep took him, he could barely remember his dreams. There was a vague feeling of fear and magic and confusion and it was _so_ much _all at once_.

Beverly woke up, gasping, _alone_. The small room he was in—_not_ a bed, _not_ with Moonshine within shouting distance, _not_ in pitch dark but instead a soft grey light—swayed in a way that was familiar but _distantly_ so. He took stock of his surroundings, or_ lack thereof_, and grabbed at his weapon.

_He paused._

Whoever had moved him _hadn't_ taken his weapon. Note one. Note _two_: this wasn't _his_ sword. Or, rather, it wasn't the one he _currently_ owned? The blade he found nearby wasn't _Hardshine_, the blade that Galad Rosell had given him, that Hardwon had defaced and he had cared for during their journey. It was the standard-regulation Green Teen longsword, well-balanced but not _great_ one way or another.

He stopped to take stock of his situation again.

Small room. No Moonshine, Deadeye, Balnor, or JV. His weapon wasn't _his_ weapon, or at least it wasn't one he carried _any more_. The movement of this room he was in was small and controlled and continued to ping _something_ in his memory.

It was familiar and he _hated_ it.

In this room, where he was not bound or gagged, where he had access to a weapon, there were curtains to the left and right of where Beverly was sitting. So he drew back one of the curtains and blinked away tears and the blinding brightness of the world outside.

And _he **realized**_—

_He wasn't in Shadowfell._

And _he **realized**_—

_Why _the movement of this room felt so familiar.

And _he **realized**_—

He had _no fucking clue_ what was going on, and that was _worse_ than the worst-case scenarios his brain concocted before sleep.

So he sat back in the carriage, eyes still watching the passing greenery outside the window, and kept his hand on his weapon.

Even if he _was_ alone, he wasn't going down without a fight.

_They'd taught him better than that._

* * *

The carriage stopped moving and the driver got out to open the door for Beverly. It was an older halfling man that he _vaguely_ recognized as someone who ran carriages for the Upper Galaderon folks. He grinned—a smile that Beverly _now_ recognized as _forced_, thanks to Moonshine's own sincere and heartwarming smiles—and gestured for him to be on his way.

In so many words, or _less_.

"Have a good time at the Jamboreen," the halfling driver said.

"The Jamboreen is canceled." Beverly replied before he could check his mouth. The halfling gave him a look but didn't move. He wanted him to take his things and leave.

_**Alright** then._

Beverly grabbed the Green Teen Regulation Pack that had been in the carriage with him, slung it over his shoulders, and winced at how heavy it felt. Still, _**completely** confused_, he jumped out of the carriage and looked around at his surroundings.

Moonstone. Midday. The sounds of a bar in full swing. The smell of water and plants and fish and swamp.

Nostalgic in the _worst_ way possible. _Again._

Beverly took stock of what he knew, what he didn't know, and what he could infer; then he made an enumerated list. He hadn't done _that_ in a while.

  1. _He was alone_. He _hadn't_ been when he fell asleep. Someone had separated him from his party and he _hated_ it.
  2. _ He was in Bahumia_, on the Prime Material Plane as opposed to Shadowfell. That _shouldn't_ be possible. It had taken _so much_ to even _get_ to Shadowfell in the first place.
  3. He had a Green Teen Regulation Pack and a Green Teen Regulation Longsword and he was in his Green Teen Regulation Armor. All his other things were _gone_. _Also_, someone had bothered to do up his feet in the family pattern. That was weird in a _kinda **gross** way._
  4. The carriage driver had dropped him off at Moonstone. He had wished him luck with the Jamboreen. The Jamboreen had not only been _canceled_, but had also been _months_ ago. Moonstone was a far way away from Frostwind. _Too far_ for a carriage.
  5. Something about this whole scenario made him _extremely_ uncomfortable. He had his hand on his blade the whole time he was riding up. His fur was on end, ears quivering, listening for any noise that meant danger or enemy or attack.
  6. There were _a lot_ of barbarians around, considering what he, Hardwon, and Moonshine did to them the _last_ time they were here.

He felt like he had the edge pieces of this puzzle on hand but he needed a moment to put it together. So, as one does, he entered _the Hungry Trout Inn and Tavern_ to put up his feet.

—and froze like a rabbit before a predator.

At the bar, talking boisterously with a scarred-up half-orc, was a bored looking human next to a nervous looking halfling in a pristine Green Teen Scoutmaster uniform.

The world tilted and swam. The pieces fell into place. He understood and _didn't_ all at once. He felt like he was gonna be sick.

That was _Hardwon_ talking to _Denny_ and _Mishka_. Except Mishka was _dead_. And Hardwon was a _vampire_ locked up in the basement of some Shell in Grimhawk, _Geased_ to stay put. And Denny was _not_ allowed _anywhere near_ Moonstone after the old folks incident.

And _that_ _meant_—

Well _that_ mean shit was _right fucked up_.

Beverly let the darkness take him, gravity assisting.

* * *

_There was a gunshot. One sharp note that fell flat, no echo._

_They moved like a swarm of insects, limbs over limbs over limbs, sharp ivory dripping with spittle._

_Red painted the ground._

_Hardwon stopped moving._

Beverly screamed and sat upright.

"_Jesus fucking **shit** kid!_"

His heart hammered against his ribs, wild, a captured animal. When he sat up he had cracked his forehead against something and now, in his moment of need, his eyes were splattered with lights and stars and grawlixes fluttering and obscuring his vision. Beverly reached for the weapon that had been at his waist. _It was **gone**._

** _It was gone!_ **

Someone tried to grab his hand, words being spoken behind a keening tone that washed out all other sounds. _No. **No.**_ They _couldn't _take him! Beverly bit down on the hand around his, clipping his own thumb with his braces. It didn't matter.

_Let go. Let go. **Let go!**_ His body howled at him to run _run **run!**_

He thrashed about.

A voice, _one word_, cut through the haze of terror and panic. The reedy whine of Denny saying, "**Stop**."

_Logically_, Beverly knew he should still try to escape _but_—

The magic in Denny's _Command_ bound his limbs in limp paralysis. His vision cleared, rings of color and pain flickering away until he could see Hardwon with a bloody nose, Denny looking more red in the face than usual and bleeding, Miska frowning down at him, and Moonshine holding a damp cloth to Hardwon, who took it and stemmed the flow of his nose. His hearing cleared more, the screaming of the blood in his ears eking away until he could make out what they were saying.

They were trying to get him to respond.

"It's only keeping you from hurting yourself, _uh_, Beverly," Denny said. "Your dad would have me _excommunicated_ if I let you get hurt anyway," he muttered as an aside.

"You _okay_ kid?" _Pelor_, he hadn't realized how much of an influence Mishka had been on him but _now_—

She was _there_, alive. His vision blurred again, tears this time. Sorrow. He was _so glad_ to see her.

He was gonna _save_ her.

"Shit, _uh_, you okay?" She asked again. As Denny's spell loosed it's hold, he nodded. It was a small movement but it was _enough_. She seemed to relax a bit and pulled off to do something out of view.

This was _really happening_.

He was _here_.

He was _then_. Or, rather, _now_.

Beverly took a shaky breath in, held it, then let it out. He sat up slowly and looked around.

It was _the Hungry Trout_, _that's_ for sure. The whole place had been cleared out and Beverly was sitting on a table, his Regulation Pack on a chair. Denny was about a foot away and wringing his hands, one dripping blood pretty consistently. Miska was heading back to where he was with a glass of water in her hands. Hardwon, blood no longer spewing all over his shirt, was chatting up Moonshine, who was keeping a wary eye on Beverly herself.

It hurt to see them so..._okay_.

It hurt to know what was _going to happen_ to them.

It just..._hurt_…

Mishka strolled back to him, the cup of water in her large, scarred hand. His breath caught in his chest as she offered it to him. It _sucked_, knowing what would be. What _had been_. What _would_ be.

Time was fucky when you went back in it.

He took the cup with a watery nod and tilted the cup back, drinking like he was in a desert. Every drop was ambrosia. Shitty, stale, tap-based, lightly-alcoholic ambrosia.

It was _perfect_.

"So, _uh_, Bev?" Denny sidled up to him, just out of reach of weaponry. _Smart man_. His face was sweaty and pale, his eyes continuing to dart back to look over at Hardwon and Moonshine, brows furrowed. "I have some, _uh_, _bad_ news?"

"The Jamboreen is _canceled_?" Beverly hazarded.

"_No_, the Jamboreen is—actually _yeah_?" Denny blinked, surprised. "_How did you_—?"

Bev pointed over to Hardwon and Moonshine, "You hired _them_ to find the other scouts? The ones you _lost_?" He didn't want his tone to be so biting but—that was _Erlan _and_ Durlin _and_ Cran_ out there, people he _cared_ about, and _this_ shitheel of a man was _gormless_ enough to leave them to die at the teeth of bullywogs!—so he was a _little_ pissed. He had a right to be.

Denny started sweating _harder_.

"You know I'm gonna make sure they _fire_ you, right? This is child endangerment." It was fun to see Denny squirm. It was soothing and cathartic to see this lesser villain of his childhood writhe under his scolding gaze. It was a victory without bloodshed.

There wouldn't be a lot of _those_ coming up. Not if things played out like they did before.

"_Yeah_, I mean, that's _fair_!" And Denny, the spineless ass, _agreed_.

Beverly sighed and took another weary sip of water. "_So_, what now? Want _me_ to go with them?"

"You'd know the others better than _they_ would! Plus you're an exemplary Green Teen!" _You're expendable_, he didn't say, the true meaning hidden between each word. "And it would put you on the fast track to graduation! You might even pass Egwene!"

While before, the promise had been tempting, now it was just hollow. Hollow and bittersweet. _Cheap_, too. "_Sure_. Let me get my things and we can head out." He hopped off of the table and grabbed his things, sword _first and foremost_. Then he turned to Hardwon and Moonshine and offered up his free hand, "Beverly Toegold V. You can call me Bev though! Scoutmaster Denny says you're going to help find my friends?"

He had to play along for now. He wasn't sure if he was in an alternate past or if he was just repeating his memories. Either way, to deviate too far from the original path could mean death or _worse_. He'd rather know what was coming than not. He was _tired_ of not knowing what was going on.

Moonshine grabbed his hand and pumped it up and down eagerly, "Moonshine Cybin! Pleased t'meetcha! And _this one_ here is PawPaw!" She gestured to PawPaw in her overalls. He snarled at Bev, who grinned at him.

He'd forgotten how scrappy PawPaw had been back then. _Now_. Back now? _Tenses..._

"And _you_, sir?" It was easy to slip back into polite honorifics when these were so dissimilar to the people he knew. It tasted bitter in his mouth, _sure_, but he could do it with little trouble.

Hardwon eyed him up and down, then looked over his shoulder to Denny, "I'm _pretty_ sure this is illegal, making a child do your dirty work?" From the stifled snort behind the bar, Mishka thought so too.

"Don't worry! I'm going to make sure he isn't allowed to work with children again after this! And I _highly_ doubt the Green Knights accept spineless cowards in their ranks! Though the Chosen might like you if you grovel hard enough." Chipper and cheery, he hadn't _meant_ to bite so hard but...out of _all_ of the bad guys they met, Denny was the most _frustrating_. Him and _his whole family_. "I'm sure your dad would _love_ to have you back home anyway!"

Hardwon smiled, "_Fuck_ kid, I like you. Hardwon Surefoot."

"_Glad to hear it!_ Now let's _go_! We're wasting daylight and I don't think bullywogs will wait for daybreak to eat my friends!"

* * *

He _tried_ to save her. It hurt worse this time around. While he didn't go _too_ hard one way or the other when it came to the middling bits of this adventure—_after all_, there were no casualties that mattered the first time—he _tried_ to save Mishka this time.

He tried and he _failed_.

So, like _last_ time, he took to a quick, sorrowful drink and suggested they try checking out Ezry. Both for the item identification _and_ to help out Stunkbug—though the latter was more of a supplementary thing. Duttle would get his in the end anyway.

He was gonna make sure that Hardwon stayed away from the drugs this time. He had the answers to the mystery of Ezry and their corrupt system. He just needed to figure out how to help them draw the right conclusion. It shouldn't be _too_ hard, _right_? I mean, he outsmarted—

He _outsmarted_—

_He_—

He outsmarted _someone_ terrifying, _didn't he_? Not Thiala or Duttle or anyone like that, but someone _scary_. Someone _important_.

_Why_ couldn't he remember who he had one-upped? He remembered _the satisfaction_. Something in the north. Something to do with a mystery. A _murder_. But—

_Who?_

Red eyes and...cold and...blood and...Hardwon _crying_.

It kept him up that night, the first night of travel. _What_ was he forgetting? _Why_ was he forgetting?

So he wrote down all he could remember. Details as _far_ back as he could pull. Details and guidance for the events to come.

**Ezry**:

  * Stunkbug is being manipulated by Duttle
  * Skullis _isn't_ the bad guy
  * _ Don't let Hardwon do R. Cane_

**The Watchtower:**

  * _ Don't_ eat the berries
  * _ Don't goof the Watchman_
  * Thiala and Ulfgar are on their way to Galaderon. Alanis is on the Faewild, but the Watchman doesn't know this **_(???)_**
  * _ Don't goof the Watchman_
  * Hardwon's parents are Elias and Lydia Stormborn
  * _ Don't goof the Watchman_
  * The Crick Rot is fiendish in nature
  * **_ Don't goof the Watchman_**

**Galaderon:**

  * Merrick High Hill is getting promoted_ and also assassinated by the Chosen_
  * Galad Rosell is a traitor and _also_ killed Lydia and Elias
  * The Widow _is_ Lydia Stormborn. She's a revenant. Let her deal the killing blow to Galad.
  * _ Ol Cobb is great._
  * Red and Gunther are at the docks. Seek them out. They'll help Hardwon.
  * The Chosen will try to frame and/or kill dad. _Don't let them._
  * Thiala is coming and she _will_ burn the city down.
  * Ulfgar isn't doing this coz he wants to.

**The Crick:**

  * Draw from the _Deck_.
  * The Rot is because of Marabelle, Jolene's sister. _She isn't in her right mind._
  * The Elemental Chaos is fun, but dangerous. _Maybe_ necessary.
  * If we find that book, keep it but _don't_ write in it. _**(???)**_
  * Marabelle _has_ to die and it _sucks_ but she'll be at peace.

**Smuggler's Bounty:**

  * Don't let Moonshine and Balnor off by themselves with the tieflings. They're succubi/incubi.
  * Ulfgar is in _Snot's Yacht_. Don't bother with the turrets.
  * Watch out for guys in red. They're bad. They work for _that guy_**_ (???)_**

That's all he could remember but not _all_ of it, right? _Something_ happened after Smuggler's Bounty. It _had_ to, _right_?

_Why_ would he know the guys in red were bad? Why would he want to _keep_ the book? _Why_ would he feel like drawing from the _Deck_ was important? _How_ does he know Alanis is in Faewild when the Watchman doesn't? _Who_ is Balnor?

_**Something** was wrong._ What was wrong?

But he didn't have time to think _too_ hard about that. Instead he had to focus on the _now_. The _future_. Not the past.

_Later_. He'd deal with it _later_.

* * *

They stood in front of the Watchman's tower, necks craned upward. _Answers at last_. Moonshine, smiling, cast _Spider Climb_ on all of them—Tonathan included—and scuttled up the wall. Beverly just took the stairs. It gave him time to think over things.

He'd forgotten things _again_. More than before. That had to be why he had looked down at his notebook and not recognized half of what he'd written about his past—the future. Who was _Marabelle_? What did a deck have to do with _anything_? _Snot's Yacht_? What does that even _mean_?

It was worrying. Moreso than the fact that his advice and memories had been spot on so far. The berries made Moonshine vomit a bit. Beverly politely declined with a smile and only pocketed a few in case he wanted to give Galad Rosell one or two.

Why would he want to _hurt_ Galad Rosell?

He continued up the stairs, absently trying to sift through the mud of his memories. It wasn't until he bumped into Hardwon's back that he realized he was at the top, right in front of the god himself.

"**You have come to ask Me questions! I shall answer only one per person, so don't waste it on something stupid like idle small talk!**" The Watchman boomed. His voice filled the top of the tower, almost deafening everyone there. "**I _will_ take it as your question and I will answer it, no take-backs!**"

"_Fair_." Tonathan nodded and Beverly joined him. "Any of _you_ wanna go first?" Moonshine stepped forward, eyes fixed ahead, brow narrowed in pensive thought.

"What plant would cure Crick Rot?"

"**Crick Rot is demonic influence and you _cannot_ cure it with a plant**," the Watchman said. Confused but understanding her turn was up, Moonshine stepped back.

_Of **course** it's demonic. It's being caused by—**by—?**_

_Why_ did he know Crick Rot was demonic?

Tonathan stepped forward. He steeled himself and took a breath. "Great Watchman of the world, where have the Legendary Heroes gone?"

"**Alanis is not on this Plane. Thiala and Ulfgar are headed for Galaderon.**" Tonathan's eyes lit up with excitement. Still, he bowed and backed up so Hardwon could have his turn.

The thought of Thiala in Galaderon made Beverly's blood run cold. _Why_? She was his _hero_! She **_was—?!_**

Hardwon picked at his beard and asked, "Who are my parents?"

"**Your parents are Lydia Stormborn and Elias Stormborn.**" The elation and relief on his face was palpable. This was the lowest his walls had ever been. He stepped back.

They were _dead_ though, _right_? It wasn't _just_ that Hardwon was an orphan in that he had been abandoned, but _also_ they had died? Were _killed_?

_Who_ killed them? _Why_ did he feel like _Lydia_ was important?

Beverly stepped forward, into the Watchman's many-eyed gaze. He tilted his chin up at the god and made direct eye contact with a couple central eyes. The Watchman's gaze narrowed, confused and slightly in pain.

"Why am I here, back where I started?" _Wait_. Why had he asked _that_? What did that even _mean_?

"**I _don't_—?**" The Watchman began, then backtracked, eyes flitting in pain. "**That's _not_ what you—what you're _going to_—?**"

"_Please_!" Why was he _yelling_? What was going on? He was here to ask a question, _wasn't_ he? He was here to figure out— "I _need_ to know what I did. What I'm here to do!" —_**not** that?_ Not _that_. What did he _mean_ by that?! Why was he panicking? _What was wrong?_

The Watchman's eyes rolled wildly. No one else seemed to see anything strange. No one else seemed to even hear what was going on. "**I don't _know_?! I don't—_I don't—?!_**"

What had he even _asked_? What is it he wanted to know? _Had_ he asked a question?

As soon as the confusion came, it passed.

In fact, it had never happened in the first place.

Beverly stood in front of the Watchman, filled with awe. A _god_! And he knew everything there was to know!

He knew what he wanted to ask.

"What has caused this amulet of Pelor to crack; this holy artifact which can be mended by magic but returns to its cracked state, what has corrupted it so?"

The Watchman opened his mouth as if to tell him off and then closed it again, brows pinching in confusion. Then he answered, "**Thiala has broken her pact to Pelor.**"

Beverly was much less surprised than he thought he'd be. Instead, he felt more _angry_ than surprised. Angry at Thiala. Angry at the Watchman. Angry at _himself_.

Channeling this anger and frustration into a single, foolish idea, Beverly dug around in his pockets and closed his hands around one of the berries Uku had shared. "Before we go, mighty Watchman. Would you like a berry?"

(In the back of his notebook, ruined by potions shattered in his fall from the Watchtower, the ink ran on a list of suggestion and memories. It was no longer needed. Time marched on, untouched and correct as it had always been.)

**Author's Note:**

> [A Sardine Grows from the Soil](https://youtu.be/w47n5yAfFaA)


End file.
